Flying on the Ground

We continue from the previous post with more "Great Moments in Customer Service."

Several years ago, I made it a personal policy that a trip must be more than 1000 miles before I will consider flying. It's not that I am afraid of flying; it's just that I have found a 1000 mile trip in a tiny car with no air conditioning, screaming kids, bald tires and tornado warnings is just as pleasant as a 1000 mile flight. Usually we even drive the 1200 miles to visit my family, but I found some cheap airfare for the holidays, and we decided to fly instead.

The travel experience went pretty well even though we could only fly within 120 miles of our destination and had to drive the rest of the way. The final leg of the journey home involved a short flight from Dallas-Fort Worth to our small paradise here in the Great Republic. As we sat on the plane and neared our departure time, the captain came on the intercom and said, "Well folks, we're all set to go. We're just waiting to get fueled up. I keep calling for the fuel truck, but no one is answering the phone."

Although ensuring planes get the necessary fuel would be considered the primary part of the job of the fuel truck operator, I decided I would shrug off this inconvenience. Everyone has a bad day now and then. Plus, we're already on the plane for the last leg of the journey, not much else could go wrong.

The fuel truck eventually showed up, and we departed maybe twenty minutes late. After a short flight, we touched down an hour later at our home airport.

"Isn't it nice we live so close to the airport now?" St. Pauli Girl asked. "We'll probably be home in ten minutes."

The plane taxied from the runway then stopped just short of the gate area. The captain's voice came over the intercom, "Well folks, there's another plane currently at our gate. He should be on his way shortly. We'll have to wait here a few more minutes."

Let's review our time dictionary:

If you say:                               I hear:

Just a second                          1 to 5 seconds

In a moment                           5 to 30 seconds

In a minute                             30 to 90 seconds

In a couple of minutes            1.5 to 2.5 minutes

In a few minutes                    2.5 to 3.5 minutes

In five minutes                       4.5 to 5.5 minutes

15 minutes                            Oh no

A long time                           I'll never hear from you again

Even if you don't totally agree with my chart, I think we can all agree that "a few minutes" is a lot less than "30 minutes" which is how long we waited for that plane to move. And this is a small airport. There are only eight gates of which only five are actually used. How hard could it be to go to another gate?

Finally, the plane started moving to the gate area. You could hear the entire cabin sigh in relief. The plane maneuvered toward an empty gate 8. Then suddenly, the plane did a complete 180 degree turn back to where we came from then stopped again. The captain's voice came on again, "Well folks, we're not quite there yet, we just had to move out of the way for another plane that just landed."

I watched in awe as the other plane pulled up to an empty gate. I could see passengers standing up, ready to disembark. About five minutes later, our plane started moving again. This time I could see a crew set up to guide our plane to a gate. We finally managed to get off the plane 45 minutes after having landed.

I went to retrieve the car while St. Pauli Girl waited in baggage claim for our lone bag. I pulled up to the baggage claim area only to find a long line of cars ahead of me. They were all idle and no one seemed to be exiting the terminal. Another twenty minutes passed with no sign of action. I tried to call St. Pauli Girl but she didn't answer. I noticed a few people with baggage come out of the terminal. I pulled out of the line of cars and decided to double park by the door. When I got there I saw St. Pauli Girl with no luggage. She reported our luggage hadn't come off the plane yet.

Turned out that our wonderful airline had only two people working that night. They had to load up the plane that we had been waiting to clear the gate and handle our plane after we parked. At the same time. I'm pretty sure those flights had been on the schedule for a few months. I'm pretty sure a smart cookie supervisor could have scheduled enough people or called in someone on fear of losing his/her job or death.

We eventually got our bag and made it home two hours after having landed. (Did I mention we live five minutes from the airport?) But to top it all off, we paid $25 for the expert handling of our luggage! I'm pretty sure I could have offered anyone in the terminal $20 to go retrieve our bag from the plane, and we'd have gotten it within five minutes.

So I've decided to update my policy: 1500 miles or less, we drive.

Notes from All-Boys Weekend

For over 25 years I have gone on an annual all-guys golf weekend with the same 6 to 12 gentlemen. After a hiatus of a few years, the trip resumed for me this past weekend but with only my brothers in attendance, and at a more primo location.

Every year, upon my return, St. Pauli Girl peppers me with the same questions: “How's so-and-so doing? How are his kids? How's his wife? Is he still at the same job?”

My answer is usually: “Well, I didn't ask him about that. I guess they're all fine. But I can tell you his golf scores.”

Conversely, when St. Pauli Girl returns from her annual all girls weekend, my only question is: “Did you have a pillow fight?”

This year, my golf weekend got off to a rough start when my clubs failed to arrive on the same plane as myself. I'm used to this indignity and know the procedure. However, due to the small presence of this particular airline at the equally small South Carolina airport, all of the employees were out loading the plane for its departure. After waiting thirty minutes, I approached the friendly woman at the ticket counter who typed quickly on the computer, then announced, “Your golf clubs are in Dallas.”

Then she asked me how I checked my bag, as if maybe I had given instructions that my clubs would prefer a later flight out of Dallas so it could have some drinks and party with the other cargo for awhile.

“Well, I don't know what they're doing there,” she said, “but we'll deliver your bag to you after the last flight at 7:00 p.m.”

So when my brothers and I played our first round that afternoon, I had to use a set of rental clubs. We rode in carts but had a caddy with us to help out, per the course's requirements. He probably should have been heavily armed: we saw more alligators than people on the course.

 

(If you have binoculars, you might be able to see the alligator crossing the fairway above.  This is also a fine example of the lack of zoom on my phone camera.  This alligator was probably 8 feet long or so and was not the gator from the story below.)

At one point, we watched a cute baby alligator make its way across the fairway in front of us. We raced for our phone cameras but for me, with no zoom, the pictures didn't turn out. Still hoping for a good action shot, I said, “We'd better be on the lookout for the mama gator.”

After we had passed the cute baby gator, we saw a very large gator on the opposite fairway swinging its massive tail back and forth. So of course I thought it was the mama acting protectively, then I realized that it was probably just a big ol' hungry non-relative. The baby gator stopped suddenly about twenty yards from the large gator,which had started to approach it. Suddenly the small gator turned and ran back to where it had come from, with the large gator in hot pursuit.

Our caddy, whom I shall refer to as Marlin Perkins, took off toward the gators. The large gator chomped down on the small gator's tail but it managed to wriggle free and escape. Upon his return, young Marlin Perkins said, "I was trying to help."

I commented, “A really good caddy would have taken our cameras to get a closer picture.”

The lesson here is that big alligators run really fast on land, and as I remembered from my golf days back in Florida, if you are ever chased by an alligator, you need to run in a zig-zag pattern. Although alligators are fast, they are not very agile.

The rest of the weekend produced just boring golf stories. However, coming home, on my final flight out of Dallas, I saw a celebrity in the gate area who I shall call Bob. I thought about approaching him and sharing an anecdote on our related travails but decided not to as I watched someone else go up and shake his hand like they were long lost friends, which, judging from the look on Bob's face, they were not. I realized it would be about the same as if a stranger came up to me, slapped me on the back, and said that we'd once shared a urinal trough at Wrigley Field, remember?

I happened to be in line behind Bob as we boarded the plane and waited as he stowed his carry-on bags, then carefully folded himself into his seat (he really is tall). He kept a distant stare as if he was studying some philosophical conundrum floating just above everyone else's head. But I suspect it was to avoid conversation-engaging eye contact with strangers.

In the end, it just reminded me that people are people, and we all have our own problems yet deal with many common ones like no legroom on airplanes (except Bob was in an exit row). I also noticed he didn't check any bags either.

On the other end of the country, my brother arrived at his final destination but could not locate his golf bag on the baggage carousel. He went to the baggage office where he found out that his golf bag had taken an earlier flight. Maybe next time if we coordinate how we check in our bags, we can all arrive at the same time.

Economic Baggage

I am all in favor of airlines charging fees for baggage. Why should I expect to be able to pay the same airfare as I did ten years ago? Besides, I fly maybe twice a year and maybe check a bag (golf clubs) once; plus I live in a Southwest airlines market. So my opinion is actually pretty pointless.

Anyway, I booked one of my annual trips this week using frequent flyer miles. My mind then ran down the economic dilemma of whether or not to bring the golf clubs as argued by the golfer in my mind versus the financial guru:

Golfer: I want to play golf with family members but it will cost an extra $50 round trip to bring my clubs.

Guru: You could rent golf clubs at the course for maybe $20.

Golfer: But playing with unknown clubs, I will play terrible. It’s better to bring my own clubs.

Guru: You play golf once a year. You’re going to play terrible even if it’s a course with windmills and dinosaurs.

Golfer: Oh wise guru, you’re also forgetting that I’ll have to buy golf balls and a golf glove.

Guru: You can pack those in your carry-on. At least pack the golf glove and buy a sleeve or two of balls at the golf course.

Golfer: But pro shop golf balls are really expensive.

Guru: Not if you buy those slightly used ones they sell for $.50 each from the fishbowl on the counter. Or grab a few from the driving range.

Golfer: So now you want me to play with unfamiliar clubs and balls? You may as well pencil in my score of 150.

Guru: Ten strokes above your average? It’s worth the money savings.

Golfer: What about shoes? They won’t fit in my carryon.

Guru: Wear them.

Golfer: In an airport? I’ll look like a dork.

Guru: You’re also married, fat and have a mullet. It doesn’t matter what you look like anymore.

Golfer: Yeah, but security may confiscate the shoes as a weapon.

Guru: They’re rubber spikes! They can’t hurt anyone. In fact, they really don’t even help you on the golf course. You wear tennis shoes most of the time, remember?

Golfer: Well if it’s dry. But we’ll probably play in the morning dew and I don’t want to slip. And what if we end up with a stranger as the fourth person in the foursome? Won’t the stranger be terrified of playing with someone in tennis shoes, rental clubs and used golf balls?

Guru: Remember about 15 years ago when you got stuck playing with a guy that looked like a cross between John Denver, Grizzly Adams and Jesus Christ? He wore an old leather cowboy hat, jeans and sandals. Do you remember how you scoffed? And he went out and shot 72. If you play like that, no one cares how you look.

Golfer: So now you’re saying I should bring my clubs because I couldn’t possibly shoot 72 with rental clubs.

Guru: The only way you post 72 is if a tornado carries you away after the 12th hole or so.

Golfer: But it’s not just about a score. It’s the jokes, camaraderie, and the beer.

Guru: Go to a bar.

Golfer: Our wives won’t let us sit in a bar for five hours. That’s the only reason we golf.

Guru: I see. In that case you’ll want to check your golf bag on the flight but take all of the clubs out of it.

Golfer: Why?

Guru: You can fill it with ice and beer. You’ll save money in the long run.